


Game Night

by Strength_in_pain



Series: In-between Time [4]
Category: The Goldfinch (2019), The Goldfinch - Donna Tartt
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Board Games, Boris Pavlikovsky humor, Boys Being Boys, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Funny, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:08:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21874915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Strength_in_pain/pseuds/Strength_in_pain
Summary: “Do you want to play game?” Boris said.I blinked quickly. “Sorry?”“The board game. You and your mother would play, yes? Every Sunday? So we should play a game every Friday.”ORTheo and Boris have a game night of their own. A moment in time where they actually get to have fun and just be annoying boys who love each other.
Relationships: Theodore Decker & Boris Pavlikovsky, Theodore Decker/Boris Pavlikovsky
Series: In-between Time [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1562089
Comments: 4
Kudos: 71





	Game Night

“Here’s the thing. You can’t steal from big stores on the strip. There are way too many security guards. We need to stick with Costco’s or start taking wallets from drunk people on the strip.” 

“I told you already,” Boris pushed the hair from his eyes, “I don’t want to steal from some poor working person. But big companies rob the people so I wouldn’t mind taking from them.”

“Then we have to stick with Costco’s or I swear we’re going to get caught. And once that happens it’s go directly to jail, do not pass go, and do not collect 200 dollars.” 

Boris wrinkled his forehead. He was looking at me like I was some nut job in a straight jacket. 

“It’s from a game. Monopoly?” I said, wondering if he’s ever heard of it. Apparently not as Boris repeated the word carefully, in the way that meant he was storing it to memory. 

“Yeah, it’s a board game.” I explained. “My mother and I used to play it every Sunday for a while. My Dad usually would watch Sunday football, so it was just the two of us huddled on the livingroom floor, laughing our butts off and trying to out-smart one another.” 

My heart sank at the memory. There have been random moments since my mother’s passing when I would feel happy one moment and sad the next. This is one of those random waves and as happy as the memory was (my mother smiling across from me as she sealed her strategy by buying three houses on each of the Orange colored groups) my throat tightened and I felt tears prick behind my eyelids. 

“Do you want to play game?” Boris said. 

I blinked quickly. “Sorry?” 

“The board game. You and your mother would play, yes? Every Sunday? So we should play a game every Friday.” 

My lips turned upward into a tiny grin at the way Boris was thinking. “That’s nice, Boris, but I don’t have any board games down here.” 

“I do.” Boris said. He went into the bathroom that was connected to my bedroom and turned on the faucet. “Tomorrow we will play. Deal?” He asked as he emerged from the bathroom with a freshly washed face. 

“Deal.” I said while laying my head back against the pillow. Boris crawled into bed next to me and we fell asleep after a few drags from the cigarettes we pocketed from Xandra. 

After school, the next day, Boris stopped at his house to get his board game. For the half-hour that I was alone, I managed to get a few pages of homework done (an extreme rarity these days.) 

When Boris came back, he was carrying two bottles of vodka and a red cardboard box titled Headbanz. 

Tossing the game on the kitchen counter where I was sitting, Boris popped open the vodka bottle. 

“Cheers to the weekend and our Friday game night.” He said, clicking his glass against mine. We each swallowed a shot (glasses curtesy of my Dad‘s old stash) and then rummaged through the game box. 

“Headbanz? How did you get this game?” I laughed. 

“My Dad bought it for me.”

“Really?”

“Yes. As apology.” 

“An apology for beating you?” I asked, my eyes drifting to the faded black and blue mark on his left cheekbone. 

“Apology for getting drunk.” Boris said giving me a dismissive smile. He handed me the blue headband and put one on himself. 

We each grabbed a card and stuck it on top of our heads so we couldn’t see what we were. 

“It’s a guessing game?” I asked, reading the back of the box. 

“Yes. Now ask one of the starter questions.” Boris said, a bit snappy. 

I quirked my eyebrow, giving him a somewhat amused glare. “Am I a food?” 

“No.” Boris smirked. “Am I animal?” 

“Yes.” I told him. Above his head, in a cartoonish drawing, was the picture of a sheep. 

“Ha! Two seconds in and I am already winning, Potter.” 

“Shut the fuck up.” I told him in good nature. “You’re not wining unless you guess who you are.” Then, after a pause and realizing it was my turn, I asked, “Am I an animal?” 

“No.” Boris said again. I squinted my eyes at him wondering briefly if he would lie during this game. 

“Is my animal predator or prey?” He asked. 

“Prey. Things like to kill you. I’d say that’s pretty accurate.” 

He flipped me off, and poured himself another shot of vodka. 

“Where can I be found?” I asked, in order to switch up the questions. 

“You can be found in games or casinos.”

“Oh. So I’m my Dad?” 

Boris howled at this, clutching his stomach as he doubled over with laughter. “Brilliant!”

I shrugged, not finding my own sarcastic dig at my father as amusing. 

Boris said screw the shot glasses at this point, and started drinking straight from the bottle. “What creature wants to kill me?” 

“Um...foxes, I think. At least, in those old fairytales they did.” 

“Foxes?” He raised an eyebrow at me and I nodded. “Strange.” 

“So I can be found in casinos? Does that mean I’m like chips? You know, betting chips or whatever?” 

“No.” 

I slid off the kitchen stool and ventured towards the cabinets. Since I’ve been living with my father, I’ve found a few of my Dad’s chips laying around the house every so often. It was as good as cash, except I wasn’t old enough to cash in the chips myself. 

“Am I a bunny rabbit?” Boris asked. 

“No.” I opened the cabinet and moved Xandra and my Dad’s Vicodin’s over in order to reach the Lays Potato chips. 

“But foxes kill rabbits.” Boris mumbled. 

“Sorry. But your not a rabbit” I laughed, “Now, if I’m not chips, Am I a slot machine? You know, with the numbers?”

“No, idiot.” The way he pronounced idiot was practically Russian; I almost didn’t catch it. 

“Who are you calling idiot, you fucker.” I sat back down on the kitchen stool, putting the bag of chips in between us. 

Boris smiled, “Where can this animal be found?” 

“On a farm... I think.”

“You think? Potter,” Boris grabbed a handful of potato chips and threw them at my face, “you fucking suck.” 

As pissed off as I was to have greasy chips land on my face, I felt guilty for not having a better answer. “Sorry. Now what the fuck Am I?”

“I can not tell you that, It will ruin game.” He reached over and rapped me upside the head, a gesture I’ve grown to know means idiot. 

“Well what else are in casinos - OH MONEY!” I screamed, lurching forward and spitting in his face on accident. 

“No.”

“It’s not money.”

“No.”

“Then what the fuck is it?” 

“Wait and ask better questions.” Boris told me, and then, “What color am I?” 

“White.” 

“So I am chicken!” 

I snorted, “No, you’re not.”

“But -“

“What can you do with me? What is my purpose?”

Boris sighed. “I told you, you are used to play games. Sometimes in casino.”

“Sometimes?” 

Boris nodded. “If I am not chicken. Am I rooster?”

“No.” I shouted, dragging a hand over my face. “Stop thinking Poultry.” 

“You give horrible clues.” Boris huffed. 

“Ask better questions,” I said in a high-pitched, mocking voice. Boris punched me hard. 

“Ow! My fucking arm!” 

“You deserved it.” He spat, “Is your turn.” 

Rubbing my now bruised arm, I glared at him and tried to wrack my brains of anything that could be used in casinos. “I don’t know.” Then suddenly it hit me, “oh, wait, is it a pair of dice?” 

“Yes!” Boris clapped, “Good job.”

I took the card down from my head and stared at the cartoon picture. 

“What noise do I make?” Boris asked. 

“Bahhh.”

“Sheep! I am sheep.” 

“Yes!” I smiled as he took down the card. 

We chomped on some potato chips during our intermission and took some more sips of vodka to prepare ourselves for round two. The more alcohol for this game the better. 

**Author's Note:**

> Yay! Theo and Boris were happy! whoop whoop! 
> 
> Merry early Christmas and happy holidays to everyone! This is probably the only story I will post before Christmas, but I was thinking of posting one about Christmas, but Donna Tartt did such a great job in the book that I felt I couldn’t compete. So I just wrote this instead. Hopefully you all enjoyed. :)


End file.
